


Andrey, Pierre, and the Frozen Pasta of 1812

by bonaparticipated



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Inspired by Lady and the Tramp (1955), Kind of..., M/M, andrei is worried that his friend is gonna die, frozen pasta, it sort of turns into works cooks in America, pierre is sad and embarrassed as usual, this is probabaly the weirdest things I've ever written, what the heck is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 10:56:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11057514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonaparticipated/pseuds/bonaparticipated
Summary: The Great Comet/W&P fandom doesn't seem to have "that one weird fic" so I thought I'd make a contribution.





	Andrey, Pierre, and the Frozen Pasta of 1812

Andrey Bolkonsky retrieved his pocket watch from his vest to check the time. The prince was outside in an alley, accompanied only by snowflakes and the table in front of him. He shifted in his seat (a crate which he had found) to maintain comfort, and to prevent his uniform from freezing to it. Aside from the occasional sleighs which passed by on an adjacent road, the area was almost completely silent. Pierre had been gone for thirty five minutes. Andrey began to feel uneasy, although he didn't have any reason to. Despite what his awkwardness might tell you, Pierre possessed incredible strength, and had one time lifted a bear on his own. /If/ anyone attempted to hurt him, Pierre would easily be able to defend himself. Plus, it's not like Pierre would just run off on a date. At least not on a date with Andrey.

About three minutes later, Pierre   
jogged over to the table, trying his best to hide something behind his back. Andrey welcomed him with a casual smile, hoping to obscure his brief moment of worry he had only seconds earlier. Pierre smiled back at him, although the expression he displayed was quite different than Bolkonsky’s. He looked anxious and embarrassed, which wasn't an uncommon look for him, but it hardly ever was this bad. Andrey furrowed his brow, puzzled by Pierre's seemingly unbearable guilt. 

"Is everything alright?" Andrey asked, tempted to leave his chair to comfort his friend.

“No, please, don't get up,” Pierre was hesitant, stumbling over sentences, and making awkward gestures which would have made more sense if he could move his arms and hands. He slowly stepped closer to his seat, the object behind his back remaining to be hidden. 

"It's... Well, yes I'm alright," he started, still struggling to explain himself, "there's just been," he paused and looked at his shoes, "a slight mishap," 

"Oh?" Andrey questioned, raising his eyebrow as he did so. 

"You don't have to excuse me for this Andrey, I put faith into someone you told me was unreliable and now our date is ruined," he confessed sadly, "to be precise, the meal I prepared for us is completely frozen." Pierre then sadly retrieved his hands from behind his back and placed a plate of solid spaghetti on the table. Pierre looked ashamed. 

"You're kidding," Andrey said with astonishment, lifting the platter up to his face, "and this happened because..?"

"I asked..." he paused once more, still ridden with guilt from his poor choices,"...Anatole Kuragin to drop it off about five minutes before our date. That way it'd still be warm and I could get ready in time. He must've left it here early," Pierre admitted, "That's why I'm late as well. The plate froze to the ground and it took about 20 Minutes to pull it off the ground,"

"Thirty seven actually," Andrey teased, continuing to observe the frozen noodles before him. 

"I'm so sorry Andrey," Pierre said as he sat down, "I thought having a private meal outside would be a good thing for us. If you want I could take you to a restaurant, cook you something at my place, or anything else to make up for this," there was a notable sadness in his voice, as if he were restraining himself from bursting to tears. 

Andrey knew that if he acknowledged this that Pierre would feel humiliated, yet he still had to do something. If he just sat there and stared at him it wouldn't have much of a different result. To resolve this, Andrey had to find a way to make the best out of this situation.

"There's no need to apologize, Petrushka," Andrey began, "think of all the fun we can have with this spaghetti!" 

"How... how would we do that exactly?" Pierre implored. His tone revealed his suspicion that Andrey was just trying to make him feel better, but Andrey wasn't done selling the act. 

Andrey picked up the plate and held it upside down. As expected, the spaghetti remained intact. Not a noodle was out of place.

"Are you seeing this Pierre?" Andrey asked, "this block of spaghetti could very well be indestructible," 

"You think so?" Pierre responded with amusement.

"Absolutely!" Said Andrey, "there is no man on earth who could possibly take a bite out of this,"

"Is that a challenge, Prince Andrew?" Pierre sniffed. There were still fresh tears on the lenses of his spectacles, but you could tell that his attitude had turned mischievous. He wore a soft grin, which would've been devilish if he wasn't so innocent looking. Andrey's eyes widened, realizing that his intended prompt had been interpreted differently. 

"No, Petya that wasn't what I-" Andrey began, stopping immediately at the realization that clarifying wouldn't prevent Pierre from doing anything dangerous. He decided to take a different route, "your tongue will freeze to those noodles if you try to eat them, Pierre," Andrey muttered, maintaining a straight face to conceal his anxious thoughts, “you may even chip a tooth,”

Pierre frowned, and he stared at the plate before him in search of inspiration. Only moments later did his face light up, similarly to those who realize they've made world changing discoveries. Pierre removed a box of matches from his coat pocket, and began to fumble with his vest in search of something else. He retrieved a flask of vodka in a matter of seconds. 

"If I heat up this vodka it could help me thaw the noodles," was roughly what Pierre said under his breath. Andrey didn't have to hear all of it to know that his friend was putting himself at risk again. Engulfed in anxiety, Andrey inhaled deeply to prevent himself from losing his cool.

"Petya," Andrey started seriously, attempting to catch Pierre's attention with his grave tone, "you realize that alcohol is extremely flammable, yes?" 

"I certainly do," Pierre responded, sloppily attempting to ignite one of the matches on the table.

"And do you realize that heating a flask full of vodka with a match can put you at risk due to the alcohol's flammability?" Andrey hated to speak condescendingly to his closest friend, but he felt it was necessary in order to keep Pierre safe. 

"Of course I do Andrey!" Pierre replied, anything but distracted from the task at hand, "I just don't see the need to make a big fuss about it," Pierre giggled a little snarkily at this self deprecating joke. Andrey wouldn't have noticed had he not been listening so intently. He needed to find another approach to challenge Pierre with, because Pierre wasn't nearly as concerned for his own safety as Andrey was. Perhaps a logistical approach would be more effective.

“Wouldn't thawing the noodles only defeat the purpose then?” Andrey inquired, silently praying that Pierre would take the bait. 

Pierre set down the match that he had been failing to light for the past minute. He first looked at his flask, then at the spaghetti, and then at Bolkonsky. Curious and confused, Pierre scooted his seat closer to the table, and pressed his elbows to the cold frosty surface. 

“What do you mean?” Asked Pierre, pushing his glasses into place before resting his arm on the table again. 

“What I mean is, if you melt the noodles they're no longer a challenge,” Andrey clarified, “by thawing them, it removes the invincibility aspect and therefore gets rid of everything that made them interesting in the first place,” 

Pierre pouted and glared at the plate before him. 

“You're no fun, Andryusha,” Pierre grumbled defeatistly. 

“Well, at least all your teeth are intact, your tongue isn't stuck, and you're not burning to death,” Andrey said, walking over to Pierre’s side of the table & helping him out of his seat. Andrey placed a warm kiss upon Pierre’s forehead, which was now cool due to the harsh Russian winter. That is until Pierre began to blush, leading his face to heat up in the process. Pierre looked at the ground, praying that Andrey wouldn't notice the shade of dark pink that tainted his cheeks. Andrey of course, did notice, but chose not to say anything for Pierre’s sake.

“Let's get you home, Petya,” Andrey suggested, wrapping his arm fondly around his friend's waist, “Perhaps we can use the rest of your matches for a campfire and sausages,” 

“That is, if they haven't frozen to a plate by now,” Pierre joked, hugging Andrey’s shoulders in a similar manner.

“Right,” Said Andrey, “Let’s hope that they're alright,”


End file.
